


you’re there when I’m worried

by olive2read



Category: Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, Welsh Actor RPF
Genre: Bodyguard Series Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD Flare Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-01 20:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olive2read/pseuds/olive2read
Summary: AU where they all live in London. Taron finally gets around to watching the Bodyguard, hoping to surprise Richard, and his PTSD gets triggered. Richard tries to take care of him and has some work of his own to do.





	1. check in on my very best friend

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came from a conversation with drinkingstars about their Bodyguard AU fic. I’ve long wanted to write Taron’s first viewing of the Bodyguard, having enjoyed the banter about it between T&R, and I love the concept of how ptsd!Taron would react to it (with nonBodyguard!Richard to comfort him, obvi). 
> 
> I wouldn’t be writing for this fandom without the joy that is [drinkingstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkingstars) 🥰 Thanks also to [DelphinaBoswell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphinaBoswell) for help with phrasing!
> 
> Title from Elton John’s “Thank You for All of Your Lovin’” Here’s a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/awxp9tz6gtwyqjkxaixay2g37/playlist/6dJJI3dHEHRDyrwLrNKgYM?si=bde0K5IJQRuaWf0iiHAoaA) with all the songs for work and chapter titles (all but one are the Rocketman versions, cuz Madderton, the exception is in the movie but only for a quick line so not on the soundtrack, alas).
> 
> —  
CW: depiction & discussion of PTSD, including triggers, no actual violence on the page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Elton John’s “Love Me Again”

###### Richard

_buzz buzz_

_buzz buzz_

Richard turned off his toothbrush and cocked his head toward the bedroom. Had that been his phone?

_buzz buzz_

_buzz buzz_

He frowned and looked at the clock. It was a little after 1:00 am. Who would be texting him right now? He rinsed his mouth, washed his hands, and went to pick up his phone.

**Jamie: Hey Rich – you awake?**

Richard was instantly on alert. Jamie had been with Taron tonight. **_What happened? Is he alright? Where are you?_**

**Jamie: He’s fine  
** **…**  
**…**  
**You should probably come over tho**

Richard considered for a moment and pressed call. Better to know than to spiral himself into a panic. Jamie picked up almost immediately. “What’s happened?”

Jamie paused for a moment before whispering, “Nothing happened. Taron had a bit of a rough night, is all. He’s sleeping now and I just don’t want to leave him on his own.”

“Why was it rough? Ah thought you were just going tae binge on telly an’ snacks?”

Jamie sighed. “Look, I don’t think he’d want me to tell you, he’ll be mad enough that I’ve called you at all.”

Richard’s breathing started to speed up. “What the _fuck_ happened, Jamie?”

“Rich, seriously, he’s _fine_, he’s just a little shaken up by one of the things we watched. I just – I need to get home and I figured you’d want to be here if you knew.”

Richard unclenched his teeth and took a deep breath in through his nose, letting it out slowly through his mouth. “Aye, Jamie. Thanks, mate. Give me twenty?”

Jamie exhaled in relief. “Perfect, thanks, Rich. I appreciate it.”

After they disconnected, Richard grabbed his keys and headed out, more than a little apprehensive about what he would find and trying to tell himself that Jamie was probably being over cautious, just as he was about everything since he’d become a dad. Taron knew his limits and didn’t tend to watch the sort of shows that would trigger him, so he was probably just shaken up as Jamie had said. If it _was_ more than that, though, Richard wanted to be there.__

* * *

_ __ _

_ __ _

When Richard let himself in to Taron’s flat, Jamie jumped up from the couch in relief and embraced him, saying quietly, “I’m sorry, Rich, it just felt weird to leave him.”

Richard shook his head, pitching his voice low to match Jamie’s. “No worries, mate, you’re right. Ah don’ like him tae be on his own when he has flare ups.” Richard bit his lip. “Wha’ were yeh watchin’ Jamie?”

Jamie looked away and shrugged. “I’m not supposed to tell you.” Richard blinked at this news in surprise as Jamie attempted a smile. “Don’t give him a hard time about this, alright? He’ll tell you when he’s ready.” Richard nodded, clapping a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and looking worriedly toward the bedroom. Jamie’s smile grew more confident. “Honestly, Rich, he’s _fine_. We were both startled by how hard it hit him and I’d rather you were here in case …” he trailed off and Richard nodded.

“In case the nightmares come back,” he finished.

Jamie nodded and Richard could see him relax. “Exactly. Alright, mate, I’m off home.” Jamie pulled him in for a tight hug. “Take care of our boy, yeah?”

Richard hugged him back. “Ah will, Jamie, you know Ah will. Give ma love to Kate and kiss that baby fer me.”

Jamie smiled. “I will. G’night, Rich.” He left, closing the door softly behind him. 

Richard turned off the lights and made his way carefully into the bedroom, using the soft light from the bathroom. Apparently Jamie had been worried enough to leave Taron’s nightlight on in there, just in case. Taron hadn’t had a nightmare, as far as Richard knew, in at least three months. He gathered the pile of used tissues from the bed, tried not to fret about the fact that Taron seemed to have cried himself to sleep, and washed his hands, then undressed quickly and quietly. He slipped gingerly into bed behind Taron and wrapped his arms around him, curling his chest around Taron’s back and kissing his shoulder softly. Despite his worry, the comfort and scent of Taron’s warm body against him lulled him to sleep within minutes.


	2. got me quite cross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Elton John’s “Your Song”

###### Taron

Taron awoke to the expected annoyance of a slight headache and dry, crusty eyes and the unexpected delight of Dickie’s long body pressed against his back, an arm curled around his chest, cock demanding attention. He wriggled his arse against it and hummed happily when it hardened further in response. Dickie’s arm tightened against him and he felt a kiss land on the nape of his neck. 

“Morning,” Dickie breathed into his ear, nuzzling against him. 

Taron felt the skin on his face tighten and heat at the contact, spreading down his body and out to the tips of his fingers. His arm broke out in goose bumps and the sensation felt like it continued up to the top of his head, even though the bumps themselves didn’t actually pop out above his shoulder. Dickie knew how sensitive his neck and ears were and brushed his hand up Taron’s arm to enjoy the results of his continued soft kisses along Taron’s nape. Taron shivered and pushed his arse back against Dickie’s cock.

Dickie pulled his mouth from Taron’s neck long enough to spit and then Taron felt the slick glide of Dickie’s cock between his thighs and moaned, clenching around it. He heard Dickie spit again and suddenly his own cock was sheathed in warm slipperiness.

“Dickie,” he gasped, hips thrusting into Dickie’s hand, as Dickie’s mouth returned to suck at the junction of Taron’s neck and shoulder. Dickie hummed against his skin and Taron’s whole body shuddered at the sensation. Dickie’s grip tightened and Taron felt consumed by pleasure as his orgasm bubbled up from inside him, fizzing across his skin and leaving him twitching in reaction. He shivered, his body flushing with heat every time Dickie’s cock nudged the back of his balls, then breaking out once more in goose bumps, this time all over, as Dickie came, coating Taron’s legs and cock and balls with his release.

Taron floated in bliss as Dickie feathered kisses across his shoulder, then up along his neck, pausing to suck just behind his ear lobe and cuddling close, wrapping his arm once more around Taron’s chest. Taron covered it with his own, linking their fingers. They lay like that for a few moments, sinking into the bed and each other and this shared joy, until the puddle of come became uncomfortably cool and Taron shifted awkwardly away from it. He felt Dickie’s smile against his skin and a gentle tug on their entwined hands. 

“Shower?” Dickie asked and Taron nodded, biting his lip and glad Dickie couldn’t see it. Dickie loved to shower together, not for sex – they’d tried it a few times and both agreed it was generally better in concept than in reality, and rather more awkward than it was worth – but just to share space and time. Taron used to love it too but lately, well, the shower had become a bit of a sanctuary for him and he hated himself a little for wanting – needing – the time alone, knowing it hurt Dickie to be excluded from their former ritual.

Dickie stood and Taron closed his eyes, trying to keep his body relaxed as Dickie pulled him up and into his arms, then leaned in to kiss him softly, hands coming to rest on Taron’s hips. “Why don’t yeh go ahead, then, love?” He released Taron and swatted his arse playfully. Taron breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled at him gratefully. He felt so fortunate that Dickie was willing to give him what he needed, even when he didn’t understand.

The hot water felt incredible on his skin, stinging and biting and bringing back the sensation of goose bumps climbing up his face to meet at the top of his head. Taron smiled into the stream, revelling in how fantastic it felt to be so intimately inhabiting his body in this moment. It had been a morning brimming with sensual delights, one of many in the past week, and Taron felt a bit of hope unfurling in his chest that this trend wasn’t a fluke, that he would be able to maintain this piece of recovery without yet another backslide.

He found Dickie humming to himself in the kitchen, buttering toast. His eyes widened. Dickie had been busy. There wasn’t only toast but coffee, eggs, and bacon. He wrapped himself around Dickie, who paused in his buttering to squeeze Taron’s arm closer to him, throwing a smile over his shoulder. When he’d finished with the toast, he turned in Taron’s arms and they shared a few lazy kisses, noses nuzzling, grins bursting across their faces. Finally Dickie pulled back and shooed Taron toward the couch. He brought over their plates, then mugs of coffee in a second trip, and sat beside Taron, dropping a kiss to his shoulder before gesturing that they should eat. 

Taron laid a slab of bacon across a piece of toast, then loaded it with eggs as Dickie shook his head in fond exasperation. He was so precise in his eating, cutting his bacon into neat squares before delicately scooping one up with a small bite of eggs, then chewing and swallowing. He followed with a neat bite of toast and then a sip of coffee. Taron grinned at him and took a huge bite of the heap of food in his hand. If his meal had toast, or naan, or anything remotely resembling a slab of carbs, he couldn’t resist the urge to put all the flavours together and shovel them into his mouth.

Dickie leaned in and licked a bit of egg from the side of his mouth and Taron’s heart swelled. He couldn’t believe he was sitting here with this amazing man who seemed to love him, despite everything, even as his face flushed at the thought of having had literal egg on it. He gloried in the taste of the food as they ate the rest of their breakfasts quietly, smiling at each other and sharing soft, casual touches. He was almost sorry that he didn’t make more of a mess of himself so Dickie could keep cleaning him up with his tongue but these moments of normal life coming back to him were too precious a gift to squander in silly, meaningless regrets.

Dickie cleared the plates and Taron sat back, replete with satisfaction as he sipped his coffee. “What brought all this on, love?” he asked as Dickie came back to join him on the couch. “It’s such a lovely surprise. I hadn’t expected to see you until tonight.”

Dickie looked down at his hands. “Ah just like taking care of you, T.”

Taron nudged him and smiled when Dickie met his gaze. “I like you taking care of me, too.”

Dickie swallowed. “So, em, how are yeh, T? How are yeh really?” Taron blinked at him, cocking his head to the side in question. Considering the way they’d spent the morning, he’d thought it was rather obvious. Dickie cleared his throat and dropped his eyes again. “Ah jus’ mean, after wha’ happened las’ night …” he trailed off and looked up at Taron, eyes full of concern.

Taron frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, Dickie? What happened last night?”

Dickie bit his lip. “When I got here it looked as though you’d cried yourself to sleep, and, Jamie said ...” he paused, searching Taron’s gaze and Taron went cold.

“Oh.” Taron’s voice came out stronger than he’d expected, considering how very small he felt in this moment. He really hoped this wasn’t going where it seemed to be going. “I was just sad, Dickie.”

Dickie’s brow furrowed. “Are yeh sure, T? Jamie said you had a rough go of it–” he stopped as Taron stood shakily and walked over to the counter, setting his coffee mug down then gripping the counter with both hands to steady himself and taking a deep breath. “T? Yeh don’ need to tell me wha’ triggered you ef yeh don’ wanna, but Ah’m here fer you ef yeh do.”

Taron took another breath and reminded himself to stay calm. “I wasn’t triggered, Dickie. Like I said, I was just sad.”

“But Jamie said you’d seen something on telly that had you shaken.” he could hear the uncertainty in Dickie’s voice and ignored the rational little voice in his head, telling him to hear Dickie out. It was growing fainter by the second as his temper flared. Dickie sighed. “Ah’m just trying te help, T. Jamie said–”

Taron whirled around, his explosion cutting Dickie off. “What the bloody hell does it _matter_ what _JAMIE_ said?! _I’ve_ told you I wasn’t and I _wasn’t_.” He put a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, then threw his hands up and glared, furious at the hesitancy he could see in Dickie’s face. “Christ, Dickie, don’t you think _I’d_ know if I’d been triggered?” Dickie’s eyes cut sideways and, as quickly as the heat of it had flashed through him, Taron’s anger burned out of him, leaving him a raw, empty shell with a mouthful of ashes. He felt his ears pull back as a thought occurred to him. “Is that why you’re here, Dickie? Are you taking care of me because you think I was triggered?” Dickie just looked at him, forlorn, and Taron knew he’d hit the nail on the head. He shook his head, the hurt at this realisation rubbing lemon into the raw places inside him.

Dickie looked at him imploringly. “Ah jus’ want you te let me in, T. Jamie was worried and Ah’m worried too. Ah know how hard et hits yeh sometimes. Ah just needed to be sure you were alright, T, tha’s why I came over. Then we had such a good mornin’ and Ah thought mebbe yeh could tell me now. Ah can wait though, ef you need more time.”

Taron’s body sagged with a bone-deep weariness and he leaned against the counter behind him for support. He’d been basking in a glow of love all morning, so happy to feel like they were finally getting back on track, but Dickie had just been here out of some misguided sense of obligation and the thought that everything they’d shared today had been part of some plan to get him to open up broke something inside Taron. This was worse than the pity he more commonly faced from Dickie. He knew Dickie meant well, that this all stemmed from his desire to help, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He closed his eyes and curled in on himself.

“I think you should go, Dickie. I’m not really up for this right now.”

Dickie leapt to his feet and took a few steps toward him. “T, _please_, jus’ talk te me.” He stopped as Taron backed away from him, shaking his head.

“What’s the point when you’re not listening?” Taron asked tiredly. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, numbness beginning to spread out from his core. It was almost a relief when he felt his face smooth out in relaxation as it overtook him.

“Taron–” Dickie’s voice was choked with emotion and Taron felt a distant pang of … something … he couldn’t quite identify. He wondered at the sensation idly as he heard Dickie moving around the bedroom. Suddenly Dickie was there in front of him, fully dressed now, eyes pleading, hands shaking. “Taron, please, _talk_ te me.” 

Taron just blinked at him. He could see Dickie standing not two feet away from him and yet his voice was fuzzy and far away. It struck Taron as curious that he must have detached from this moment and he mused at what a difference it was from the pure physicality he’d felt in the shower.

Dickie sighed and Taron watched through the long tunnel separating them as a tear slid down his cheek. It was fascinating, the way the drop slid slowly across Dickie’s skin, pausing as though considering its path when it met the stubble on his jaw. He’d expected it to burst on one of the sharp hairs but it just sort of faded into nothingness. Dickie clenched his jaw and turned, grabbing his keys from the entry table and walking out.

Taron poured himself a second mug of coffee and turned on the telly. He knew he should probably text his therapist, that was one of the rules they’d established for when he had a dissociative episode, but the numbness wrapped him in layers of unconcern and he shrugged off the urge. He could always text her later.


	3. dust out the demons inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Elton John’s “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues”

###### Richard

Richard slammed the car door shut and pounded his fist against the steering wheel. _FUCK_. He _knew_ better than to push Taron on this stuff. He kicked himself for ruining what had been the best morning they’d had together in weeks. Taron had struggled with any kind of intimacy for the past few months, constantly withdrawing into himself and refusing to talk about it, needing to shower on his own, and going through periods where he wasn’t willing, or able, to have anyone in his flat. He’d only started asking Richard to spend the night again two weeks ago, and only now and then, nothing like before when they’d hardly spent a night apart. His night in with Jamie had been another big step and Richard could only hope his impatience hadn’t undone all the work it had taken to get there.

It had been killing Richard that there was nothing he could do but wait and hope and be there if – _when_ – Taron wanted him again. It chafed at him that Taron wouldn’t talk to him about any of this. Then today everything had been going so well, Taron had been so relaxed and happy, and Richard hadn’t been able to stop himself from seizing the opportunity to push. Part of him had wanted to relax into the day with Taron, it had been so long since they’d spent such comfortable time in each other’s company, but that part had been drowned out by the months of frustration, the unanswered questions, and the fear that something was deeply wrong. Far from opening up, Taron had completely shut down and now, instead of spending a lazy day with the man he loved, Richard was alone in his car, having further alienated Taron when all he wanted to do was _help_. Ugh, _why_ couldn’t he just let this _be_?

He scrubbed at his face, angrily swiping at his tears, furious with himself. The blank, flat look on Taron’s face as he’d left had terrified him. It had taken everything in him to walk away from Taron when he was like that but he’d known that his continued presence would likely only make things worse. _FUCK_.

He pulled out his phone and brought up Taron’s contact card. His finger hovered over the call button, he wanted so desperately to hear Taron’s voice but the thought that Taron might ignore the call, or – _worse_ – might answer in that odd, distant voice, stopped him. He opened his sms app instead and stared at the screen for a few minutes before settling on a simple **_I’m sorry, T. I love you_**.

That done, he called Jamie and, without going into detail, told him that he’d fucked it up. Jamie sighed and said comforting things but the disappointment in his voice still cut into Richard, carving one more set of slashes into a heart already in tatters from the confrontation with Taron. He shook his head at himself, annoyed at his wallowing when it was _Taron_ who was hurting. He was so focused on his self-recriminations that he almost missed what Jamie was asking.

“Wha’? _Me_?”

Jamie let out a slow exhale. “Yeah, Rich. You. You can’t keep carrying all of this weight on your shoulders. It isn’t good for you, or for Taron, and I think it would help if you talked to someone.”

Richard swallowed. Part of him wanted to dismiss Jamie’s suggestion as nonsense, he wasn’t the one recovering after all, but most of him was willing to grasp at anything that might help. “Alright, Jamie.”

“You will? Oh, Rich, that’s brilliant. I’ll text you some names.” Jamie’s voice was a mixture of so much relief and pleasure and Richard squirmed uncomfortably at the knowledge his behaviour had clearly been weighing on his friend, to the point that he’d assembled a list of potential therapists, even.

“Aye, Jamie, thanks. Ah don’ like et but you’re right. Ah’m no good te either of us right now and Ah canna bear the thought of hurting him more.” They spoke for a few more minutes, Jamie reassuring him and speaking more freely than he had in some time. Considering the marked change in demeanour, Richard wondered how long he’d been holding back on this suggestion.

Jamie’s text came through and Richard took a deep breath, then called the first person on the list. Talking to him wasn’t terrible but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. He tried the next person and got a similar outcome. He was starting to feel discouraged when something clicked with the third person and they made an appointment to discuss what was going on in detail. Richard felt a slight pang at the thought of telling all of this to a stranger, Taron was fiercely private about what had happened, but reminded himself that it was confidential and that it would be worth it if it helped them come back to each other.

Hanging up, he started the car and headed home.

The next morning his phone buzzed and he felt his body unclench a bit when he’d read the text that had come in.

**Taron: Me too xx**  
  


###### Four days later

Richard left his new therapist’s office feeling a renewed sense of hope. Taron had reached out to him two days ago and they’d had a good chat after he’d apologised. He’d agreed to trust Taron’s word about his feelings, he’d have agreed to nearly anything that got Taron talking to him again and had already promised himself much the same thing, so it had felt like he was getting off a little too easily. Taron had enthusiastically supported his seeing a therapist, obviously as relieved as Jamie at the prospect and Richard had felt yet another twinge of guilt that _his_ feelings had impacted Taron enough that he needed Richard to take them to someone else. They still hadn’t seen each other but that was more a matter of scheduling than avoidance and they’d been texting almost normally, Taron sending him little notes and memes whenever the mood struck him and Richard responding with dry quips and esoteric trivia.

Then the conversation with the therapist, that he’d been dreading ever since he’d agreed to it, had gone more smoothly than he’d dreamt possible. Richard couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, the therapist had said that had seemed so remarkable but he left feeling more confident and better able to understand, and manage, his reactions. He was a bit dismayed that he’d been given homework but even there he was able to laugh at himself and his naïveté, as though he somehow hadn’t realised that this process would entail actual work.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he withdrew it to find a text from Jamie.

**Jamie: How’d it go?**

** _Fine … good even. You were right mate_ **

**Jamie: Result! I’m so glad Rich**

He smiled and went to put his phone back into his pocket when it buzzed again.

**Jamie: I’m off to Taron’s for a night of telly and takeaway**

Richard bit his lip, unsure why Jamie was telling him this. **_Have fun!_**

**Jamie: Thanks mate. Just … keep your phone nearby, yeah?**

Richard frowned, suddenly anxious. **_What’s going on Jamie?_**

His phone rang. “Jamie?”

Jamie sighed. “I’m sorry, Rich. It’s probably nothing but we’re going to watch the next couple of episodes of … the … show … that upset him last time.”

“What is it you’re watching, Jamie? Why would yeh do tha’ _again_?”

Jamie paused for a long moment. “I’m not supposed to tell you, Rich, and Taron has what he thinks is a good reason. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just … I’d feel better knowing you were on standby.”

Richard sighed and rubbed his eyes. “This es bloody bullshit, Jamie, _especially_ after last time.”

“I know, Rich. I’m sorry. I’m probably fretting over nothing.”

Richard tried to remember the centring exercise the therapist had asked him to try. He took three slow breaths in and out, pushing down through his feet. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was doing it properly but he did feel calmer. “No, et’s fine. Ah’ll be here. Call me ef yeh need to.”

Jamie’s relief was practically palpable. “Thanks, Rich.”

Once they’d disconnected, Richard closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths. He acknowledged his worry and refused to freak out about this. He reminded himself that last time they’d both overreacted and it had hurt Taron. He vowed not to repeat that mistake. He took a moment to dig out his new therapist’s card and save his number, just in case. He’d shrugged at the offer to text if something happened where he felt out of his depth but now it seemed prescient.

His phone buzzed again and Richard took another breath before he opened his eyes to see what else Jamie had said. The text wasn’t from Jamie, however.

**Taron: you survive?**

Richard smiled. **_Aye_**

**Taron: i’m glad. miss you Dickie xx**

** _Miss you too T_ **

**Taron: you wanna come over tonight, after?**

Richard felt the anxiety that had started at Jamie’s request recede. It meant more than he could put into words that Taron wanted him there, especially considering how badly he’d handled the last time. **_Yes please_**

**Taron: 11?**

** _Perfect. See you tonight love_ **

**Taron: xx**


	4. i’m not the man they think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Elton John’s “Rocketman”

###### Taron

Taron smiled up at Jamie, taking the bottle he offered and clinking it against the one in Jamie’s other hand. “Ready?”

Jamie shook his head but couldn’t hide a smile. “As I’ll ever be.” He stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth and nodded at the telly. 

Taron grinned and pressed play, then groaned almost immediately. “Ugh, _why_ is he sleeping with her? She’s awful.” Jamie laughed and threw a chip at him. Taron smirked and popped it into his mouth, waggling his eyebrows at Jamie’s look of feigned disgust. “D’ya think he fancies her? Or is it part of some nefarious plan?” Taron was fairly certain it was part of an as-yet-unrevealed plot, since Dickie’s character was so twisty in this, but Jamie maintained that the pair were developing feelings for each other. Ugh. Ew.

“Ha! Room service! You tell her, Dickie!” Taron cast a triumphant look at Jamie, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.

He shook his empty bottle at Taron. “Another?” 

Taron nodded absently, completely absorbed in the drama playing out on the screen, as Jamie grabbed another couple of beers from the kitchen. There was a fleeting glimpse of naked Dickie and Taron felt himself flush. “God, he has a great arse. I can’t wait to get my hands on it again.”

Jamie chuckled and threw a pillow at him. “I’m loving this running commentary, Taron, but I could do without the insight into your sex life.” He paused, then said archly, “You know who _would_ enjoy it?”

It was Taron’s turn to roll his eyes. “Shut up, Jamie, it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Jamie shifted uncomfortably. “I know, Taron, but I don’t think–”

“Oh, not you too, Jamie. Come _ON_, mate. I’m _fine_.”

“I know, Taron, I’m just worried about some of the stuff in this show.”

Taron rolled his eyes and popped a bite of fish into his mouth. “Honestly, Jamie, if I can get past him fucking that wretched woman, I think I can handle the rest.”

Jamie barked out a laugh and shoved Taron playfully. Taron grinned at him and turned back to watch.

“Oh, bollocks, Dickie, don’t do it!” He shook his head at the screen as they began to drive. “Ugh, of course he does. So susceptible to people in power over him.”

Jamie laughed again. “What did I say about sharing the details of your sex life, Taron?”

Taron threw a pillow at him. They chatted amiably for a bit, eating their fish and sharing their chips. Jamie got up to grab more beer as Julia leaned over Dickie’s sleeping form. Suddenly, Taron leapt up, covering his eyes. “_Bloody_ hell! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! What’s he, oh god, he’s _choking_ her!” Jamie rushed over to him but Taron waved him off. “I’m fine, Jamie, just, Christ, _fuck_, the look in his eyes! Fuck!”

He shook himself and sat back down, watching the next few minutes curled up in a ball and breathing heavily in noisy pants as though trying to drown out the sounds on the telly. Jamie’s arm came around his shoulders and Taron leaned into the contact. He chuffed a faint laugh and unwound a bit at the eggs, muttering “serves her right” and Jamie gave him a squeeze, ruffling his hair. He swatted at Jamie’s hand and sat up a bit, scoffing at Julia’s declaration that she wanted them to be together by choice and not requirement, “as though Dickie would ever choose _her_.”

Jamie smiled and relaxed, pulling away to nab the last couple of chips.

Taron yelped when the bomb went off and hid his face, peeking out from behind his fingers almost immediately when all stayed quiet, well, apart from the ominous music. Jamie rubbed small circles on his back and he looked over with wide eyes and a tremulous smile. “You weren’t kidding when you said this was dark.” Jamie opened his mouth to reply but stopped at a look from Taron. “It’s _FINE_, Jamie, _I’m_ fine.” He loved Jamie and he knew he meant well but, _god_, did he long for the day people would stop smothering him in worry. It killed him that everyone was constantly on edge around him, alert for any sign he was falling apart (again).

“D’you want me to text Rich?”

Taron gave him a quelling look. “He’s already planning to come over tonight.” Jamie raised his hands in surrender, then got up to clear the mess from dinner. Taron took a few deep breaths and checked in with himself. He was feeling good. Some of that had been scary and dark but his heart racing had just been the normal edge-of-his-seat stuff that came from watching an intense thriller. As Jamie came back in with a fresh round, he smiled up at him and cocked his head toward the telly. “Alright, mate, on to episode 4?”

Jamie frowned. “I dunno, Taron, is that a good idea?”

Taron raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “Jamie, I’m fine.”

Jamie nodded. “I know, Taron, and that’s great mate, it really is, but _I’m_ not.” Taron blinked at him in surprise and Jamie smirked. “I know this is hard for you to understand, mate, but, even though you’re a huge deal, not everything is about you.” Taron stuck his tongue out and Jamie grinned, then turned serious. “There’s stuff in the next episode that I’m not really up for watching again, at least not tonight. It’s just ... it’s a lot.” Jamie shook his head and chuckled softly. “Shite, mate, the first time I watched this I only did one episode per week.”

Taron acquiesced grudgingly. “Alright, mate, we can watch something else. Any thoughts?”

Jamie considered him. “I’ve heard that BBC One show, Ghosts, is good.”

Taron cued it up on iplayer.

Twenty minutes later, he and Jamie were cracking up at the idea of a Moroccan tea party when he heard Dickie’s key in the lock. He bounded up from the couch and jumped into Dickie’s arms, wrapping his legs around him and kissing him deeply. Dickie caught him, staggering back against the door, and returned his kiss enthusiastically. He felt Dickie’s hands sliding along his thighs toward his arse and moaned softly into the kiss.

“Oi!” Jamie called from the couch. They broke apart and grinned foolishly at each other.

“Sorry, mate,” he called sheepishly over his shoulder, at the same time Dickie grimaced and said, “Sorry, Jamie.”

Taron unwound his legs and slid down Dickie’s body, pushing his hips into Dickie’s to keep him pressed against the door. Dickie darted a glance at Jamie and Taron grinned, then released him, grabbing his hand and walking him over to the couch. Dickie sat and Taron promptly settled himself in his lap. Dickie laughed and kissed his neck. Jamie threw a pillow at them.

When Jamie decided to head home at the end of the episode, they offered only a token protest before sending him on his way. Once the door was shut, Taron pounced on Dickie again, straddling his hips and wrapping a hand into his hair as he kissed him greedily. He tugged gently on Dickie’s hair and felt more than heard Dickie groan under him, his hands reaching to undo Taron’s jeans as Taron’s hands slid under his shirt. He pulled back so he could get Dickie’s shirt all the way off and then once more fused their mouths together.

Dickie gripped Taron’s thighs and turned them, getting Taron under him on the couch and grinding their hips together. Taron nipped at Dickie’s lips and lifted his hips to grind right back. Dickie sat back, panting.

“Ah thought ye wanted te _talk_, T,” he gasped out.

Taron rolled his eyes. “I _do_, Dickie, but can’t it wait?” Today was a high libido day and he had no intention of squandering it, so long as Dickie was willing and just as eager. He slid his hands along Dickie’s flanks and dipped his fingers under the waistband of his jeans, squeezing the delicious arse he’d admired on telly earlier and pushing their hips, and quickly hardening cocks, together again. “I’ve _missed_ you.” Dickie shook his head but let Taron pull him back down into a kiss. They rutted against each other like horny teenagers, mouths and hands roaming with more hunger than finesse. Taron undid Dickie’s buttons and pushed his jeans down over his arse, reaching into his pants for his cock and Dickie shouted his name and came as soon as Taron had wrapped his fingers around the firm flesh. Taron got a hand around himself as Dickie collapsed his head against Taron’s neck and in moments was digging his teeth into Dickie’s shoulder and coming.

Dickie huffed out a laugh and kissed Taron’s jaw. “Fuck, Ah needed tha’.” Taron hmmm’d in reply and lay back in contentment, letting Dickie shuffle him out of his remaining clothes. He was pleased when Dickie didn’t insist on a shower but instead went into the bathroom on his own. He came back with a warm, wet towel which he used to clean Taron up gently, dropping kisses all over his body as he did so. Taron’s cock took a half-hearted interest in the proceedings but he ignored it, satisfied to bask in afterglow and Dickie’s attention. Dickie turned off the lights and got them both into bed, curling his body around Taron’s and kissing his shoulder.

“Ah know ye don’ like to talk about this stuff, T,” Dickie said softly, “but Ah need to.” He pulled Taron more tightly against him. “Ah mean, there are things _Ah_ need to say.” He kissed Taron’s shoulder again. “Et doesn’t hafta be right now. Ah jus’ need te know you’re willing te listen, and not to another lecture, Ah promise.”

Taron turned around within Dickie’s arms and kissed him gently on his lips, his nose, each cheekbone. “Go on, then, love.”

Dickie’s eyes widened in surprise and Taron kissed his lips again, resting their forehead together. “Well,” Dickie began uncertainly, “first, Ah need to apologise again.”

Taron kissed him, cutting him off. “You don’t, Dickie. I appreciate it, I do, but – please – don’t. I accept your apology and I don’t want you kicking yourself over this any more, love.”

Dickie sighed and nodded, the movement transferring to Taron’s forehead as well. “Alright.”

Taron waited but Dickie didn’t say anything else. “Was that all?”

Dickie nuzzled his nose into Taron’s. “Aye, love. Ah had a whole speech prepared about boundaries an’ all but, well, we’ve already talked about et and, more than anything, Ah needed te know you’d listen without shutting me out again. Ah never want to be in that place again, T.”

Taron smiled sadly and ducked his head against Dickie’s chest. His stomach was starting to flutter and he felt his chest tighten. He reminded himself to relax and breathe deeply. “I don’t either and I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

Dickie nudged his head back up. “Ah know, love. Ah didn’t mean that. Ah’m just worried and Ah hate not knowing what te do or how to help.”

Taron squeezed him tightly. “This is what I need you to do, Dickie. Just be here. Try not to push.” He sighed. “And, I’ll try to open up.”

Dickie shook his head. “No, love, Ah didn’t mean –”

“I know, Dickie, but you’re right. It’s so scary to talk about it, I’m afraid it’ll take over my brain again if I let it out into the open, but it’s getting better and it helps to talk, sometimes. I’m so proud of you, by the way.” Dickie frowned and Taron nipped at his lips. “I know this has been hard on you, love, and I know what it took for you to get help. I’m proud of you.”

Dickie kissed him. “Thank yeh, love.” 

Taron snuggled more closely into him, intertwining their legs and doing his best to remove every last pocket of air between them. His stomach was still a little bit shaky and the constriction hadn’t entirely let go of his chest. He closed his eyes and sunk into the various textures of Dickie’s skin against his, the smooth planes of skin, the soft hair along his chest, the slightly coarser hair along his legs, the bunch and ripple of muscles, and, of course, the prick of stubble where Dickie’s jaw rested against his head. In moments his discomfort had faded and he was asleep.


End file.
